Phantom Limb

Beneath the knee that has been taken away, claws keep growing. On nights when the sound of scraping against the floor gets under my skin. On nights when, with no clippers, an ingrown nail seems to press into the joint— a night that almost tickles. I try to find relief, but somehow, it does not quite hurt. I search for the nail clippers, then give up at last and stroke my knee. Another day passes like this, and morning comes. The nail has grown a little longer. The heart you tore from its roots heaves out its grief all the louder.